


Serpent Mirror

by Gwenog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-10 18:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19512097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwenog/pseuds/Gwenog
Summary: The return of the Triwizard Tournament prompts Harry Potter to resign his Ministry post and seek a teaching position at Hogwarts. An unexpected attraction complicates his mission.





	Serpent Mirror

For a mad moment, the worn face of Remus Lupin flashed up at Harry, reflected in a silver instrument laid out on the desk. Harry leaned in and peered into the whirring gadget, but it was only he, looking much as he remembered his old professor and friend. There were deep dark circles under his eyes and several tiny white scars across his pale cheeks. The years had not tamed his wild black hair, and with his scruffy gray-slashed beard he would not have looked out of place as a beggar in a Muggle street.

“Mr. Potter,” came a voice, and a tall witch robed in emerald green appeared from behind a bookshelf, which had been concealing a second room. She took her place behind her ornate claw-footed desk and grasped Harry’s hand firmly. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you for meeting with me, Professor McGonagall,” said Harry, who had risen to take the headmistress’s hand. “It’s been some time.”

“Frankly I was surprised to receive your letter,” she said, the tips of her fingers lacing in an eerily Dumbledore-esque fashion. “I have corresponded with Minister Granger and Mr. Weasley; neither has heard from you of late.”

“I have been traveling,” Harry said, his tone deliberate. “I arrived yesterday from a short stay in the Caribbean, and this morning I submitted my letter of resignation to the Auror Office.”

If McGonagall felt any particular way about this revelation, her stony features revealed nothing. She was quiet for a time, however, and when she spoke again her voice was soft. “Am I to understand that you and the Minister of Magic do not see eye to eye on the revival of the Triwizard Tournament?”

Harry avoided the piercing scrutiny of his former teacher’s green, beady gaze as he replied: “The Minister is besieged on all sides by powerful political forces. I understand and do not envy the position she is in.”

“I admire your courage, Potter.”

“A more courageous person might’ve stayed to fight.”

“There is courage in dissent, whatever form it takes. It is powerful in particular when we choose to stand against our friends,” she said gently, “a lesson you and your friends learned long ago.”

Involuntarily, Harry’s eyes sought the portrait directly behind McGonagall, which he had been previously determined to avoid. Its lacquered frame was worked with gold, and from within it the sparkling bright blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore seemed to pierce Harry’s mind—and he was eleven again.

“Without preamble, Professor McGonagall,” Harry intoned after some time, tearing himself away at last from the haunting visage of his old headmaster, “I have come before you today to ask for a teaching position at Hogwarts.”

McGonagall smiled. The lines around her mouth and eyes were much deeper than Harry remembered. “It is certainly courageous to continue the fight from the front lines.”

Harry pondered on that.

“I have always believed you would return, Harry,” the headmistress continued, leaning forward and speaking so softly now she was nearly whispering. She seemed somehow changed from Harry’s years at school, and he could not help but notice the many threads of gray woven into her once-solid-black hair. “Hogwarts is your home. It was my wish that you grow up here, safe as anywhere else. I never forgave Albus for it, I think.

“Whatever your intentions in returning, you will always have a place at this school so long as I am headmistress. What’s more, you’re in luck! Professor Slughorn has only a few weeks past announced his second retirement from his post as Potions Master.”

“Potions!” Harry blurted in a bit of a panic. “I had hoped I could teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, professor.”

“Oh I’m afraid that I cannot do for you, Harry. That vacancy has just been filled. By one of your old contemporaries, in fact.”

“Really? Who?”

“Ms. Luna Lovegood.”

When Harry got over the shock of little Loony Luna, who had never Stunned anyone until her sixth year, having secured a position as a master vanquisher of the Dark Arts, he said, trying to keep his exasperation in check: “Professor, there’s no doubt in my mind that Hermione has put Luna up to this. She must’ve known when I disappeared that I would quit the Ministry and come to Hogwarts. She means to have Luna keep an eye on me.”

“If that is true, I can hardly ascribe malice to the Minister’s actions,” said McGonagall, who seemed to be chiding him. “If she is concerned for you, I do not fault her, when you leave without a word and do not write to your friends. And besides, I need hardly remind you that Ms. Lovegood is a veteran of the Battle of Hogwarts and a celebrated Magizoologist. She will be a valuable addition to our staff.”

“I understand,” Harry sighed.

“Horace will be delighted! We never did find a suitable replacement for his post. He’s insisted on staying on, you know, until a worthy successor could be found. And who should come knocking but his crowning achievement, the child of his prize student.”

“I was never the potioneer my mother was.”

“Nonsense,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “You were still top of your class in the subject when you returned for your seventh year even without the crutch of Snape’s old textbook. Oh yes, I know about that. And you should note, Harry, there is no better way to learn a subject than to teach it to another. I was nineteen when Dumbledore gave me the chance to teach Transfiguration, hardly an expert. Allow yourself to grow with your students.”

“I will… try.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you back in September,” McGonagall said cheerily. “We can discuss your contract then. Off you trot, the heads of Ilvermorny and Mahoutokoro will be arriving shortly. I must prepare.”

“We can’t allow another child to die at Hogwarts, professor.”

“I quite agree.”

But Harry left feeling hollow.

—————

"It's just like old times, isn't it!” Luna was saying, her arm linked with Harry’s. She had really outdone herself this evening, wearing a crown made of sedated Devil's Snare set around a large Acromantula egg. Her dress was composed entirely of feathers belonging to various magical beasts. The Diricawl was heavily featured, and she swore its essence gave her the power to Apparate silently. "The last time we attended a Slug Club meeting together, I thought we might wind up married one day."

Harry flinched, as he usually did at Luna's untethered honesty. "I'm sure Rolf makes you happier than I ever could, Luna."

"I wish you didn't isolate yourself so much, Harry," she said, her voice small. It had lost little of the dreamy quality it had held during their school years. "I don't think we need partners to be fulfilled, but it does make living in this sad sad world a little easier."

That prompted a hollow pang in Harry's chest, but he shrugged it off as they pushed past an unbolted iron door and entered Horace Slughorn’s old office. It was ample, decorated with purple streamers and drapes and balls of golden light suspended just below the arched ceiling.

“Harry Potter,” Slughorn wheezed. He was somehow more immense than Harry remembered, and decidedly ancient. He got up with great difficulty from a large round table around which roughly a dozen students were seated, each looking quite distinguished in their finest robes and gowns. “Come in, m’boy, come in! And dear Luna! Or should I say, Professors Potter and Lovegood?”

There were several oohs and aahs around the table. Slughorn winked, looking pleased.

“A pleasure to see you again, professor,” Harry said while Luna bowed, her Devil’s Snare garland snapping feebly. He wondered whether either of them remembered that Luna was never an official member of Slughorn’s elite association. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“Naturally, naturally! A fabulous chance for old Slug Club alums to meet our newest inductees. Sadly this shall be our last affair before the end of term, perhaps ever. Bit of a farewell gathering for me, really. So many thoughtful gifts; they shouldn’t have. You wouldn’t consider continuing the club while I am gone, would you, professor?” he asked Harry slyly, elbowing him in the ribs. Harry was privately mortified by the idea.

But before he could respond, Slughorn had turned to address his students: “You will all know, of course, the illustrious Luna Lovegood, whose name is a fixture in your Care of Magical Creatures textbooks. As a Slug Club special, you get to meet her well before the rest of your peers as your next Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. And Mr. Potter here, who has never needed an introduction, will be your new Potions Master. I taught him much of what he knows, so you may rest assured your education remains in safe hands.

“Professors,” Slughorn went on importantly, showing Harry and Luna (who had garnered great applause) to their seats at the table, especially reserved with glittering nameplates, “allow me to introduce a few of the most talented students you’ll have the pleasure of instructing next term.”

And he was off, listing each one’s name and their various individual achievements; a string of Outstandings in O.W.L.s here; a Transfiguration Today Most Promising Newcomer award there; never failing to mention if they descended from some old wizarding family or another. Occasionally, Harry caught a surname once associated with Voldemort’s inner ring. He was distracted by one Phoebe Rowle, whose grandfather Thorfinn had once attacked Harry and his friends in a café, when Slughorn arrived at last to the final item in his collection. By the greedy glimmer in his eye, he seemed to have been eagerly awaiting this moment.

“And this,” he crooned, his massive chest puffing a bit, “with respect to all others present, is perhaps my finest find since your own days, Harry. May I introduce Scorpius Malfoy, Slytherin House’s proudest son. But you and his father Draco were close friends while at school, of course! Scorpius was just today extended a formal invitation to serve as Head Boy next term, weren’t you, m’boy?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said, his voice even and clear. He reached across the table in one elegant motion and firmly shook his future teachers’ hands in turn. “An honor, Professor Lovegood, Professor Potter. Hogwarts is made better by your presence.”

Scorpius’s sharp features were unequivocal. He was a Malfoy and no mistake, with a head of white-gold curls and eyes like thunderclouds. Yet Harry detected no hint of the bluster and pretension he had come to associate with the boy’s father. A fool might call him bashful, but beneath the gloss of timidity, Harry sensed a degree of confidence and self-possession only seen in children of privilege and wealth beyond measure.

“Charming lad. Let this feast commence in truth, then!” Slughorn cried, tapping his stubby wand upon the table. Their plates and cups were filled at once with the kitchens’ finest foods and brews. 

Chatter filled the room. Luna regaled them all with tales of her travels abroad with her husband and lamented that they had as yet been unable to confirm the extant nature of Nargles. Her Devil’s Snare headdress, slowly regaining consciousness, was threatening to strangle the petrified fifth-year to her left. More than once, Harry was asked to recount the story of how he had managed to subdue the Graphorn of Great Gable, among other exploits from his Auror days. Each time, he found Scorpius watching him with great interest from behind the rim of his crystal goblet.

Of the Battle of Hogwarts, neither spoke much.

As the night drew on, the magical lights overhead dimmed and some of the students paired off to dance to the jazzy music of Slughorn’s phonograph. Luna allowed Slughorn to lead her onto the floor, but not before he had blasted the crown off her head when it had lunged for his portly neck. To everyone’s relief, the pulsating Acromantula egg lay blissfully unhatched.

Harry, after much prodding and pleading, permitted a procession of girls one turn each. They fawned a great deal, some inching a little closer than he thought was appropriate. When Phoebe Rowle laid her head on his chest, he decided it was all too much, and made to take Luna off Slughorn’s hands, to a chorus of mournful moans. He was intercepted, however, by a slender white hand at his waist.

“May I, professor?” Scorpius Malfoy matched Harry in height despite his youth. This close, Harry noted the three distinct shades of gray in his eyes. The girls were watching them, mouths agape, and the other dancers seemed to be eyeing them askance between twirls. Only Luna and Slughorn, lost in a teary-eyed singalong to the late Celestina Warbeck’s You Stole My Cauldron But You Can’t Have My Heart, seemed wholly oblivious.

“Congratulations on making Head Boy,” Harry said, trying to sound professional. The sound of giggling girls tied a knot in his stomach. Scorpius’ hand felt warm pressing into his. 

“Thank you,” he replied. His sultry breath, hot on Harry’s face, smelled a bit of firewhisky.

“How is your father?” Harry asked, a bit awkwardly.

Scorpius smiled. His teeth were small and almost translucent, as though belonging to a sick child. Harry thought of the boy’s mother, Astoria, whose failing health and recent death had been attributed to a Greengrass family curse. And yet it was a beautiful smile, full and bright, enhanced by a lone dimple on his left cheek.

“Professor Slughorn mischaracterized your relationship with my father during your school years, didn’t he, professor?”

“Er—”

“It’s alright,” the boy laughed. “I’ve heard all the stories. Grandfather says you were responsible for losing our family our servant, a house-elf named Dobby, among other things, but Papa sticks up for you. I think he regrets all the bad blood.”

“Dobby deserved to be free,” Harry said, more irritably than he intended.

“I agree!” Scorpius answered quickly. “I wrote my end-of-term History of Magic paper on the merits of Minister Granger’s reform of the guidelines on house-elf welfare. I argued that she didn’t go far enough, but acknowledge that she did as much as possible given the political resistance at the time.”

“That seems to be an epidemic.”

“Pardon?”

“Ah, don’t mind me,” Harry said dismissively. He scanned the room. Some students had slipped out for the night; Luna was now entertaining the rest with a bluesy rendition of You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me amidst the inconsolable sobs of a drunken Slughorn.

“So,” Harry continued, feeling more relaxed with fewer eyes on him; he held Scorpius closer to match the mood of the music, “do you make a habit out of dancing with your teachers?”

“Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?  
It’s left me for a spell—”

“Only the ones I plan to ask to coach my Quidditch team next term.”

Harry burst into laughter. Something about Scorpius in that moment, whether the silver gleam in his eyes or the roguish curl at the edge of his mouth, was inescapably endearing.

“That was very good,” Harry said, wiping a tear on the sleeve of his robes. “And very shameless.”

“I’m certain you remember what it’s like to look out for your team, professor.”

“Are you the captain?”

“And Seeker.”

“Well,” Harry said, suppressing a smile, “presuming that I would ever deign to coach a Slytherin team, I wouldn’t think too much about Quidditch next term.”

“It’s true, then!” Scorpius whispered breathlessly, his eyes widening.

“What is?”

“The Triwizard Tournament! It's coming back!”

Harry quietly cursed himself. “You just tricked me into telling you that, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oh. No, I—”

“Your every wish is my command,  
My fragile heart is in your hands—”

Harry disentangled himself from Scorpius. “I look forward to having you in my class, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, shaking his hand. The hurt in the boy's face at the frost in Harry’s voice seemed so genuine that Harry had to turn away from him.

He bid all remaining revelers farewell, resisting many slurred protestations from Slughorn that he simply must stay for another song. Luna insisted on staying to ensure the old Potions Master made it to bed safely.

At the door, Harry chanced one last glance at Scorpius Malfoy. He had sat back down and was idly tracing the rim of his emptied goblet. Alone at the large round table, he appeared quite small.

Droplets of blood stained the carpeting on the sixth-floor corridor as Harry’s nails dug into his palms. Fate had already chosen Hogwarts’ next champion.


End file.
